


fun with jim and jane

by clarabelle



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Arguments, Canon Compliant, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 02, Some Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarabelle/pseuds/clarabelle
Summary: Hopper's chair scrapes against the wood floor as he stands up. He finishes tucking his shirt into his belt. “Mouth breather, huh? Another new word you picked up?”“No,” El says, and she sounds almost wistful. Probably thinking about that Wheeler kid again.OR: Moments in the life of El and Hopper (plus some other beloved characters).





	1. paperwork

Hopper brings her to his dusty cabin in the woods, and he soon learns that taking care of a psychokinetic near-teenager is no easy task. She speaks few words in the beginning, not necessarily due to shyness (even though she is definitely wary of him, and she has every right to be, considering) but because her vocabulary reflects someone who has been a lab rat since the tender age of zero. He teaches her new words, like anxious, dignity, and whine. Hopper then tries to explain the difference between “wine” and “whine” when she confuses the two, resulting in a badly taught lesson of the English language and Hopper cursing himself for spending much of fifth period smoking with Joyce on the hood of his old truck when he could’ve been learning things that, at the time, seemed pointless in comparison to dicking around.

El can also be quite terrifying. He can say that as someone who has seen some terrifying shit in his life. With Sara, she never quite reached the angsty stage of being young and in love. That Wheeler kid must have kissed the damn ground she walked on given the amount of times he has heard “Mike” in both her dreams and when she tries to visit him. Hopper imagines that part of her frustration comes from not being able to quite say what she means, and so she uses her actions to display—often loud and clear—just exactly what is bothering her. Babies cry for the exact same reason, only El’s tantrums tend to end in slammed doors and things breaking. Sometimes, when he lets himself think about after, when the bad men finally leave them the hell alone, he promises to get her the help she needs. A speech pathologist, he thinks they’re called.

He knows that the Don’t Be Stupid Rules are harsh. She spends a lot of time alone as he cleans up the mess that was last year.

“Bored,” she says one day at breakfast.

Hopper takes a large gulp of coffee. “New word, kid. Where’d you learn that one?”

“TV,” El says, then repeats, “Bored.”

“Look, how about I get you a new puzzle or something. That sound good?”

She rolls her eyes. “Boring.”

“You really like that word, huh, kid.” He cuts a bite of her Eggo for himself. “I can get you a movie instead. Better? Flo might know what to get.”

El’s eyes light up at the mention of Flo. He talks about her from time to time, often in exasperation—how she’s trying to make him eat healthier, smoke less, and be on time.

“Go,” El says. “To work.”  
  
Hopper looks down at his uniform and quirks an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, I have to leave after this.”

“With you,” she elaborates. “Please.”

Her eyes are so big and pleading. Hop sighs. “You know the rules.”

“But—”

“No buts.” His voice takes on a stern tone. “You know the rules. I’ve got a conspiracy nut who comes in everyday with new information on the Russian spy living in Ted Wheeler’s basement. That’s you, kid. Come to the station and he’ll never shut up.”

El touches her hair; it’s started to grow past her ears now. “Different.”

Now it’s Hopper’s turn to roll his eyes. “Your face isn’t. Also, you pick shit up with your mind. That’s pretty incriminating.”

“In-crim-nating?”

“Yeah,” Hopper says. “Incriminating. Criminals. The bad men, they’re criminals.”

“Powers.” El points at her chest. “Incriminating. Criminal.”

“No, kid. You’re not—” Hop sighs, frustrated. “Listen, you can’t come to work with me. I’m sorry, but you can’t. It’s not safe.”

She mumbles something under her breath that sounds like “Mouth breather.”

Hopper's chair scrapes against the wood floor as he stands up. He finishes tucking his shirt into his belt. “Mouth breather, huh? Another new word you picked up?”

“No,” El says, and she sounds almost wistful. Probably thinking about that Wheeler kid again.

“I’ll try to be home by 5:30 tonight, okay?” His boots stomp on the way to the door. As he unlocks the four bolts and goes to twist the knob, he says, “And kid?”

She turns around in her seat to face him, cheeks bulged with waffle, and Hopper points a finger in her direction. “Never call me that again.”

With the swing of her arm, the door crashes open with a gust of wind and narrowly misses a collision with his knee.

“5-3-0. Don’t be late,” she says.

 

He’s late. Of course he’s late.

Flo came at him with a mountain of paperwork that only seems to become urgent when he is about to leave.

“Why can’t this wait until tomorrow, Flo?” he asks.

“We're already behind, young man. And if you stopped coming in an hour late every day, then you wouldn’t have this prob—”

Hop walks past her and his sometimes-helpful-but-mostly-idiotic workforce. Powell appears to be doing his job, but Callahan reclines in his seat like he’s watching a football game.

“Got a hot date tonight, boss?” he calls after him.

There isn’t a single woman in Hawkins that he hasn’t already pissed off in some way—besides Joyce, but even she is seeing Bob the Brain these days. It’s not like he can really take anyone back to the cabin either. That’s not a conversation he would like to have with Eleven, now or ever.

...which reminds him of why he has to leave. Hopper looks at the clock and finds the time to be considerably past 5-3-0.

He closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. “Son of a bitch,” he curses. “Flo, I gotta leave.”

She tuts at him and shoves a stack of paperwork into his arms. “At least try to get some of it done. For this old woman’s peace of mind, okay?”

Meanwhile, Callahan and Powell cackle together. “Ooooh, so he does have a hot date. Tell us all about it tomorrow, chief.”

Hopper rolls his eyes and holds back a familiar joke about Callahan’s wife.

“Goodnight, everybody. Don’t stay too late,” he says, slamming the station door and reaching for his keys.

It’s not quite dark yet, and—seeing as Hopper is more often late getting home than he is early—this truly is an improvement. Really, he should shoot for a later time when Eleven asks for one in the morning and then lower his chance of breaking a promise. For a pretty secretive person, she takes the saying “Friends don’t lie” damn seriously.

 

Once he does the secret knock and the door bursts open, he finds her on the couch. The TV flickers.

“Late,” she says. “You say 5-3-0, but it is 5-5-5.”

“I know, kid.” He dumps stack of papers on the side table next to her. “I got caught up. You hungry?”

“Ate.”

Hop puts his hands on his hips. “Really? Actual food, or Eggos?”

“Peas.”

He sits down on the couch with an exhaustive sigh, slinging an arm around the back of it. “And here I thought peas were mushy and gross.”

Eleven shrugs a shoulder, her eyes transfixed and unmoving from the television screen. A Crunch n’ Munch commercial is playing.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Boring.”

“So was mine.” Hopper takes off his hat and scratches the back of his head, then points to his homework. “Had to bring some of it home with me, too.”

El floats one of the papers to her eye level. It seems kind of redundant to Hopper, seeing as the side table is directly to right, but oh well—she does what she likes.

“Case number,” she reads.

“Yeah, each person has a number so we can keep track of them all.”

She rubs absentmindedly on her forearm, where he knows her tattoo to be. He winces. Maybe that wasn’t the best explanation.

“And here?” El points to the blank lines below that.

“That’s where we talk about the case. Like, yesterday, two dumbass kids stole plastic geese from the hunting supply store. So I would write that there.”

She returns her attention to the TV. After a moment of silence, she says, “Stole Eggos.”

“I know,” says Hopper. “Shattered Big Buy’s front door, too.”

El floats the paper in front of him, and then a pen appears next to it. She drops them in his lap. “Do me,” she says.

Hop looks at her, then at the paper. “Alright,” he agrees, clicking a pen. “Can you...get me something to write on?”

The often-used dictionary appears as well. “Lazy,” El says, hinting at a smile.

She had wanted to go to work with him this morning. This is probably the next closest thing to that; not every day is a battle with a demogorgon, but something tells Hopper that she has had more than enough fighting in her relatively short lifetime.

He ruffles her hair, writes “11” in the case number blank, then says aloud, “In November 1983, a psionic Russian spy broke into the local Big Buy and stole nothing but frozen waffles. Sources claim that she could control shopping carts with her mind.”

El rests her head on his shoulder and yawns.

“A real cause for a panic,” says Hopper.


	2. eggo

He comes home from work one day to find the bathroom door closed. All things considered, this isn’t completely out of the ordinary. The kid might not seem it, but she’s human—and she eats more unhealthy crap than most people: Eggos, Devil Dogs, Bubble Yum, and the occasional Twinkie. Hopper sure as shit can’t cook a decent meal past breakfast time, tired and unwilling once he finally hangs up his hat. They’ve been living off Swanson frozen dinners for months now. Now that he thinks about it, he really hopes he isn’t stunting her growth forever. The girl’s tiny enough as it is.

Hopper takes off his belt and holstered gun, changes out of his uniform, and drops down onto the couch with a sigh. The TV isn’t on, and the bathroom door is still shut.

“Hey, El?” he calls, not really planning on getting up anytime soon. “You hungry?”

No response. Not even the sound of running water, pitter-patter of feet, or the flushing of a toilet. If it weren’t for the light peeking out from under the door, he would think she’s violated Don’t Be Stupid Rule #3.

“Kid? You okay in there?”

Pause. Sigh.

“You gonna make me get up? I’m old and my knees are brittle, arthritis runs in the family.”

Again, nothing. His voice goes deeper and more commanding: “Eleven!”

Hopper looks up at the ceiling. He hopes that tonight isn’t one of those nights. He stands, walks to the door, and knocks three times in succession.

“Why am I only hearing the sound of my voice, huh? You trying to reach Wheeler from the bath now? TV works just as good.”

With his ear to the wood, he hears a questionable noise and then a faint shushing sound. “Okay, I’m coming in,” says Hopper in warning.

The sight in front of him could not have been predicted. El sits fully clothed in the bath, though she could clearly use one, layered from head to toe in smudges of dirt. An even dirtier mutt is clutched to her chest; one of its eyes is screwed shut in apparent injury, but that doesn’t keep its tongue from hanging out and a tail from wagging in happiness. It’s a small thing, with overgrown dark hair around the eyes and mouth, ears pointing up straight to the ceiling rather than flopping to the side like a labrador.

Hopper raises his eyebrows.

“What’s this,” he says in a tone that most would find frightening.

El, however, looks at him with her pleading doe eyes and says, “Keep him?”

  
He doesn’t let her keep him. Which goes over how you might expect it, which is not well at all. Hopper and Eleven have had their fair share of spats during their time together, where he raises his voice, she breaks something with her brain that is not quite valuable but still a real bitch to fix, and they both go to bed angry. He can handle those kinds of arguments because neither of them can really stay mad for long. Hopper usually feels bad in the morning, makes her a good breakfast or brings her home something fun to do after work, and then the kid relents out of a) sheer forgiveness, or b) self preservation, given the fact that he’s the only human for miles and her weeks alone in the forest showed her that even his company is better than no company at all. Hopper isn’t stupid; he suspects it’s usually the second one.

But this time is different. There’s no screaming, breaking of glass, or slamming of doors. Instead, to his horror, the kid _cries_.

She’s in tears while holding a puppy. Hopper can be tough at times, but he isn’t heartless. Even he can tell that the sight before him is pretty damn tragic.

This is the point where most people in his position would sigh, relent and let the girl keep her new furry friend. First and foremost, Hopper is a cop—a cop who fears the so-called “bad men” far more than a few tears. He knows how this could end. So, he kneels down beside El, still curled up in the bathtub as the dog licks at a bald patch of fur, and he says, “We can’t have a dog. Sorry, kid, s’too risky.”

El clutches the dog tighter. “Take care of it. Be here when you aren’t.”

Hopper reaches a hand out. The way she holds her back to him is defensive, protective over the ugly thing.

“Listen, I get why you want one. I’m gone a lot, and I’m sorry.” Eleven keeps her eyes fixed on the ground. He continues, “But this could be someone’s pet. They could come looking for it...call the cops, and the bad men find us. That what you want?”

“But you are cop,” Eleven says.

“Yeah, I am,” Hopper reasons. “But what if someone hears barking? What then, huh?”

Eleven throws an arm out, then throws familiar words back at him: “‘Way hell out here.’”

She’s got a point, but still: “No,” Hopper says, firm.

“Hurt. Alone. Cold.”

“Dogs have fur. It’ll live.”

El points a finger at herself. “Hurt. Alone. Cold,” she repeats.

Hopper runs a hand through his slightly thinning hair, then tries to explain in a somewhat placating tone, “Humans are different than dogs. You were wearing a damn dress when I found you.”

She sniffs in disagreement. “Was fine.”

“Oh, and how’s the weather now? Still chilly?” Hopper stands from his crouched position. “You may move shit with your mind, but dogs don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

Eleven lifts her chin.

“He can stay tonight.” Her eyes perk up at that. Hopper continues, “But if he isn’t gone by tomorrow morning, he’s breakfast.”

Her mouth drops open in horror. And to his horror, her eyes have a glassy shine to them.

The soap bar falls from its dish. The sink faucet turns on abruptly.

“Jesus, kid. I’m _joking_.”

Eleven stands and walks past him. Even the dog in her arms looks at him with something similar to disappointment.

“Not funny,” El says.

She walks across the living room, careful not to trip over any cords with the precious life in her hands. The bedroom door slams behind her. Even after all these months, he still isn’t quite used to the sound.

  
She doesn’t join him for breakfast. He didn’t expect her to, to be honest, and he doesn’t bother knocking.

But when he gets home at 5:30 on the dot, there is no dog to be found. For all her occasional rule-breaking, she is pretty good at doing what he tells her to do. It doesn’t mean she’ll be happy about it, though.

She lays on her bed with her back to him.

“Got you something,” he says.

She doesn’t turn over. “Eggo?”

He didn’t think this was something that could be fixed with frozen waffles, but he’s been wrong before. “No, not Eggos. We have some in the deep freeze, you can have them after dinn—”

Eleven flips to face him. “Not Eggos. _Eggo._ ” She sounds frustrated.

Hopper is too. “What are you talking about?”

“Friend,” she says.

She named the dog Eggo. Of course she did. “Uh, no.” Hop scratches his head. “But I got you this.”

He holds out a stuffed mutt that he’d got on his lunch break while buying smokes. It doesn’t look anything like the patchy, dirty thing that had been hiding in his bathroom the night before. Joyce hadn’t said anything when she rung him up; Hopper kind of loves her for that.

Eleven looks at him for a good moment. Then, carefully, she turns back to the wall.

Hopper tosses the dog onto her bed, fed up. He leaves the room, eats a bland TV dinner by himself along with a beer or two, and if he later sees El cuddling her new toy in her sleep—well, then. It’s been a pretty victorious evening, hasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I appreciate all the comments and kudos on the last chapter, they really made me want to write more. <3
> 
> If you guys have any suggestions on future chapters, you can submit prompts to my new stranger things tumblr, [psionicjane](https://psionicjane.tumblr.com/). Anonymous or not, I would love to hear some of your ideas!
> 
> Thanks!


	3. cheater

Mike has fourteen freckles on his nose. El knows this because she counted.

Hop would be whole happy to know that she’s been counting. Her days are spent remembering times tables and writing down words to ask about later. She isn’t allowed to watch TV from the time he leaves for work until the time he comes home because to him _that shit rots your brain_. Eleven tells him that she learns words like aghast and impetuous from Erica, the woman who talks like Kali, and so she should get to watch All My Children when it comes on. She asks him why the TV is suddenly rotting her brain if she’s been watching for a year, and he rolls his eyes but doesn’t yell (they both have homework), so Eleven still watches TV—now with notes to write words down. Compromise.

Hopper might be halfway happy about what she’s counting, because she thinks Hopper is only halfway happy about Mike. They don’t fight as much now that she can see her friends. When Mike visits her at the cabin, more rules are added to the list. Sometimes she thinks Hop makes up rules just because he can. When she talks to Mike in her room, the door has to stay open. Kissing isn’t against the rules, she doesn’t think, but Hop usually stops them when they are about to. _Dinner’s ready_. Or, _time to go_. Always, always time to go.

El likes looking at Mike. Some would say maybe too much.

“You’re staring,” Max whispers. There are white flakes of snow in her hair, so long, pretty and red. Max is the prettiest. They sit on a snowbank by the lake that she once screamed at and made birds fly from the trees.

“Sorry,” El says, looking away from Mike. He’s tying one of his skates and leaning against a tree to do it. They’re going ice skating today. Mike already helped her put hers on. “Freckles,” she adds.

“Ugh, freckles are the _worst_ ,” Max says, face scrunching up like she ate mushy peas. “Mine are _everywhere_.”

Lucas comes to sit by them. “What’s wrong?” Lucas asks.

“Freckles,” El and Max both say.

“Yeah,” Lucas agrees, poking at the freckles between Max’s eyes. “It’s like connect the dots.”

“Oh, shut up, Stalker,” Max says, and then she tackles him into the snow. El thinks she sees them kiss but she already got caught staring once, so she sneaks a look back at Mike and sees that he’s looking at her too. His face turns red and he looks away, nodding at what Will says next to him. Will, Mike, Max, Lucas—

El counts her friends and finds one of them missing.

“Dustin?” she asks.

From behind her, a familiar voice says, “Yes, m’lady?”

El turns around and there’s Dustin. He’s wearing a funny costume. Not like the one Hopper wears to work or the ghost she wore on Halloween but much bigger and hiding his face. He holds a stick in his hand.

Max and Lucas sit up from kissing.

“What are you _wearing_?” Lucas asks Dustin.

“We’re playing hockey,” Dustin says.

Mike shakes his head. “We’re not playing hockey. El doesn’t know how to skate yet.”

“Neither does Max.” Max punches Lucas in the shoulder. “Ow!”

“I know how to skate more than you, numbnuts.”

“Skate _board_...”

“You don’t know how to ice skate?” Dustin asks while looking at Max. El thinks he sounds surprised.

“No, okay, I don’t.” Max crosses her arms. “I’m from California. And excuse me for not wanting to walk with knives on my feet.”

“Knives?” El asks, kind of scared. She looks down at her skates. They do look rather pointy.

“Max’s just being dramatic, El,” Mike explains, walking over to sit next to her. The skates make him even taller than he usually is. He points to the shiny part of them. “The blades help you glide on the ice. It’s almost like flying, you’ll love it.”

“Flying,” she repeats.

El knows about flying. Her mind flashes back to the Lab and the Mind Flayer, and how the blood dripped down her nose and ears. Nothing about that night was fun.

Now, she looks at her friends and knows that today will be different.

Max and Lucas are still fighting. No, _arguing_. El learned that word last week. Dustin is taking off his costume and Will is helping him with a smile on his face, looking much better than he did on that night months ago. El thinks she hears Dustin say “Son of a bitch” and if it were Hopper, he would have to put money in the Bad Words Jar, but Dustin is not Hopper—he swears more than he doesn’t, and without parents around, it’s allowed. El wonders what hockey is, and why Dustin is so mad they aren’t playing it. She’ll have to ask Mike about that later.

“We aren’t playing hockey, fine!” Dustin pulls out something black — “But I’m keeping _this_ ” — and shoves it in his mouth.

El is confused.

“What do you need that for?” Lucas groans, shaking his head.

Dustin does the purr that he always does, only this time spit flies everywhere. Max yells “Ew!” Will pats Dustin on the back, and Lucas keeps shaking his head. El giggles because Dustin never fails to make her laugh.

The others walk toward the frozen lake, slipping and sliding as they go.

“Ready?” Mike asks, holding out a hand. She grabs onto it.

“Ready,” she says.

 

El learns that ice skating is hard. Normally she would use her powers for balance, but according to Dustin that’s cheating, so she holds onto Mike’s hands and tries not to fall. Mike told her to start with small steps and to bend her knees. So far she’s fallen twice, pulling Mike down with her both times. El feels _awful_.

“You’re doing great!” Mike says, nodding his head and smiling. He pulls them upright. El smiles a small smile.

She looks over at Max and Lucas. Max is doing much better than she is, and the old El (the one that Nancy told her was _jealous_ ) would have made the redhead crash into the ice. El doesn’t do that and instead keeps skating.

“You can use your powers, you know,” Mike says softly.

“I know,” El says.

“Dustin was just joking, and you don’t have to listen to him anyway.” He holds her hand tighter. “We’re your friends. You don’t have to hide around us.”

Sometimes Hopper makes her clean the dishes without her powers. He says it "builds character," when really it just takes longer. Is he making her hide? El doesn’t know.

“In school,” El says, then asks, “Will I hide?”

She might go to school in August, if she can pass the tests and learn in time. Hop said he might hire a tutor if they’re reliable (the opposite of bad).

Mike bites his lip. “I don’t know,” he says. “It could be dangerous. Sometimes it’s safer to blend in.”

El feels a surge of energy run through her. “Like a chameleon!” she says, since she read about those in a book months ago. They change color to blend in and match their surroundings.

They giggle together at her joke. Hopper isn’t there to say dinner’s ready or it’s time to go, so they stop skating and kiss.

 

As they walk back to the cabin, skates in hand, Will quietly says something about how good she skated near the end. El thinks about the tissues stained red in Mike’s pocket (he always has tissues now) and a part of her feels guilty for what is maybe lying.

“I cheated,” El whispers.

“That’s okay,” Will whispers back.

 

Everything is okay until they get back to the cabin and Mike sets off the tripwire.

It makes a loud noise; El covers her ears, Lucas, Max, and Dustin let out high screams, and Will stands calm next to them all. El moves to help Mike off the ground as the cabin door swings open and Hopper steps out with a shotgun pointed in their faces.

He sees it’s them and lowers the gun. Hopper’s angry, but she’s seen him angrier, though her friends don’t look any less scared than before.

Eleven holds her head high, the first to make her way toward the cabin, past Hopper and inside. She hears Hopper say the words hot chocolate, get the fuck inside, and before I change my mind. Her friends shuffle inside, and from her spot on the couch, El sees Hopper add to the jar on the kitchen table. With every fuck, shit, and goddamnit, she is much closer to having her own radio.

They all settle in and around the couch. El flips from channel to channel, and her friends like watching and talking along to All My Children too. They drink hot chocolate and laugh when Dustin farts, though Hop complains that this is a small cabin, kid, _Jesus_.

Her friends go home eventually, with promises to see her next weekend and if the snow stays, they will show her how to build a snowman, have a snowball fight, and make a snow angel. El didn’t know snow could do so much; last winter, when her stomach growled and her toes had no feeling in them, snow was the very opposite of fun. El wants to ask them more about a snow angel and if it’s as pretty as it sounds, but she hears the honk of Jonathan’s car telling them it’s time to go. She hugs each one before they leave, leaving Mike of course for last. Hopper is reading the newspaper at the table, not looking, so they sneak a small kiss. El stands at the door and watches them all pile into a car that she thinks is way too small for them all to fit. Waving, she watches Jonathan drive away. She stands there for minutes after they leave.

“Stop sighing and come sit,” Hop says, getting up and walking to the refrigerator. “I know you skipped lunch.”

“Not sighing,” she says, but sits down and agrees, “Hungry.”

He makes four grilled cheeses because they both eat two with room for dessert. Eleven takes a bite of the sandwich and asks, “Hockey?”

Hop takes a bite, chews, and says, “What about hockey?”

“What is it.”

He leans forward. “It’s a game that people play. You shoot a puck into a goal to score points.”

“Puck?” she asks.

“Yeah, a puck,” he says, and he looks up at the ceiling like he always does when he tries to explain something hard to understand. “A puck is like…like this.” He twists the top off the Bad Words Jar and hands it to her. “Kind of that size. Then you use a hockey stick to hit the puck into the other team’s goal.”

El thought that a goal meant something else, like a wish or a dream. She opens her mouth to ask what this new kind of goal is, but Hopper flips through the newspaper, makes a humming sound, and points to a picture of a guy wearing Dustin’s big costume. “He’s standing in front of the goal. See? You try to get the puck past him, and you get a point.”

Hopper holds his hands apart on the table, like an almost goal, trying to show her. El moves the jar-puck in between them.

Hop laughs and ruffles her hair. “Exactly,” he says.

Score.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying out a new POV. Wow is Hopper easier to write. What do you think?
> 
> Prompt: This isn't about El and Hopper but I'd really like a scene where the kids teach El and maybe Max to ice-skate. Also your Fun with Jim and Jane fic is really good and you got Eleven spot-on so kudos.
> 
> To the person who gave the prompt: I hope you liked it!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos on the last two chapters. You can find me at [psionicjane](https://psionicjane.tumblr.com/) if you need a stranger things blog to follow or want to prompt a new chapter. Also, you can like/reblog this chapter [here](https://psionicjane.tumblr.com/post/167524964547/fun-with-jim-and-jane-chapter-3-clarabelle).
> 
> And if you want to start a little discussion in the comments, what was your favorite line from season two? Mine was Dustin's "I need my paddles!" :)


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